


Only Human

by NebulousMistress



Series: Let Slip the Hounds of the First Order [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Arena Combat, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Cannibalism, Gen, Monster Armitage Hux, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Psychological Torture, Snoke is a creepy bastard, force torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: It's been three months since Supreme Leader Snoke unleashed his Hound. His disappointingly human hound.Sequel toThe Hound of Arkanis
Series: Let Slip the Hounds of the First Order [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698706
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> Cannibalism warning  
> Child abuse warning  
> Mental torture warning
> 
> General helluva warning

Captain Armitage Hux followed his quarry through the warrens of… what was this place again? He couldn’t tell just by looking. Blank walls flickered annoyingly all around him, colors washed out in the glare of too much light even though these warrens were supposed to be dark. His quarry hid somewhere in this migraine-inducing nightmare of glaring lights. He was prepared for this hunt. A blaster rifle hung over his back, ready for use. He had his knives with him in case of close combat. His gray uniform and matching breastplate hid him from prying eyes, or it would if these warrens were actually as **dark** as intelligence claimed them to be.

He couldn’t smell his quarry and that annoyed him. Worse, he could hear it but there was no particular location to the sound, it almost came from everywhere and nowhere. And that constant flicker gave him a headache.

Armitage came to a door and squinted. He couldn’t tell if it was open or closed. He growled and knocked at the door with his rifle. The barrel of the blaster phased through the hologram and a low buzz informed him of the penalty.

Fine. He wouldn’t bother with the door. The keypad next to it flickered with a different frequency, he was supposed to interact with it. That was all well and good but he couldn’t see the numbers over all the glare around him.

This simulation was familiar. It might be the Rebellion Base on Dantooine, the command warrens found on that world beneath the landing platforms. If he were correct then behind this door he would find the hologram of some Rebel leader or other, the identity depended on the whims of the technicians running the simulator that day. Wedge Antilles was a favorite target for the Second Shift technicians and Armitage could appreciate it. He would appreciate it more if he could get through the pfassking door.

He pulled a blade and, sliding the edge into where he approximated the seam in the casing might be, stabbed it in like a security spike. He twisted it, ignoring the low penalty buzz informing him he wasn’t following the exact rules of the simulation, and the cover over the keypad dissolved as though he’d pried it off.

The bundle of bright wires was not an improvement. It felt like trying to look at a bundle of writhing flickering worms and each worm was as bright as a hand torch. He grabbed the lot of it and yanked, earning him one long penalty buzz.

A mechanical hiss told him the door was now open.

The barrage of blaster fire also informed him of this. Penalties accumulated during the simulation manifested as extra Rebellion fighters added in to adjust the difficulty as punishment. When the number of Rebellion fighters reached the simulation-imposed maximum those fighters became commandos then became leaders then they all became Luke Skywalkers. 

Armitage rolled around what he thought was a corner in the warren but what the low penalty buzz informed him was another wall. Whatever. He pulled his rifle and aimed at the flood of fighters and commandos spilling from the room. The buzzing didn’t stop as he didn’t extract himself from the holographic wall. Fighters fell and disintegrated. Commandos shot at the wall, their blaster bolts shining painfully bright as they impacted the holographic wall in front of him. Han Solo's smirk died on his lips as he took a shot to the chest. Leia Organa darted out and nearly blinded him with the force of her blaster fire until he took her down with a lucky headshot. When a particularly large and hairy Wookie stepped into view Armitage began to think maybe he should extract himself from the wall. He did, rifle still raised and ready.

The hologram of Chewbacca roared and raised its bowcaster. Armitage roared back, teeth bared, and the Wookie paused in a moment of surprise. Armitage took the opportunity and peppered it with blaster fire. The hologram fell and faded.

The hallway filled with holographic smoke, mist pumped in from machines in the floor and ceiling of the simulation chamber to mimic the smoke from so many blaster impacts. It didn’t help him see any better, instead the holograms seemed brighter as their light refracted.

Still, he was alive. He’d even taken down the mighty Chewbacca. He might even win this one.

And then he heard the distinctive hiss and hum of something terrible behind him. He turned and hissed at the skinny fop-haired farmboy with the blue lightsabre.

Any hope of winning this round evaporated in the shining blue light reflecting from the farmboy’s blank and wild eyes. He had no chance. Never once in his life had he failed a simulation so completely that he was penalized with a Luke Skywalker.

The Skywalker flicked away his blaster shots like they were nothing and descended like a herald of death. Worse, as the sabre blade hit his neck he felt it, a stun-charge built into the hologram lashing him like a line of fire.

The world went dark.

When Armitage came back to awareness he still felt that line of fire on his neck. The bright holograms were gone, the blank and empty simulator ceiling a backdrop for a sight he really did not want to see.

“Get up boy,” Brendol snapped.

Armitage growled low at the image of his father standing over him.

“I said, get up!” Brendol Hux kicked savagely at his son on the floor, his boot slamming into the side of the breastplate.

Armitage shrieked in the sudden shock of being kicked. He quickly rolled over and crouched back, pulling his chest and belly from his father’s reach. His low growl turned from simple displeasure to a snarl of abject warning.

Brendol sneered, a fire in his eyes that bordered on something that looked suspiciously like triumph. “If you’re going to fail like an animal you might as well act like one,” he said, smug dripping from his words. “The Supreme Leader is quite interested in your lack of progress. He’s demanding to see you on the _Kraken_.”

Armitage did not like the sound of that. Still he growled, unwilling to give the old man the satisfaction of making him fear.

It was three months now since his promotion to Captain. Three months since the physical augmentations and gene therapies suppressed his human half and gave him back the features of a native Arkanan.

Three months now since he’d had a single good run in a simulator. The holograms just didn’t look the same. He’d complained, he’d sent word to Dr. Katsuo, he’d tried to relearn how to see again but nothing helped. His eyes were no longer compatible with the holograms produced by Imperial-era simulators.

“Well?” Brendol demanded.

Armitage stood up, stepping back to keep out of the range of his father’s hands. He tugged at his uniform, trying to straighten it even as it bunched up beneath the breastplate. A long line of red marred his neck where the stun-sabre struck him. Even so, the pupils wide with fury and shame prevented him from looking fully human.

He had **never** failed a simulation so badly he was forced to face down Skywalker. As cadets they were all instructed to pity those who did fail to that level. As he was still only a junior officer he could expect to be mocked for this for… possibly forever.

He could feel the technicians snickering about it as he held his head high and left the simulator.

At least his father wasn’t coming with him. He could handle whatever punishment the Supreme Leader had in store for him but not with his father present. Not again.

*****

The First Order command ship _Kraken_ lurked above the bright white surface of Ilum. The amalgamation of nautilus shell, pleasure barge, and cargo freighter looked out of place among the Imperial Star Destroyers and the burgeoning space stations that encircled Ilum’s equatorial trench.

Normally communications with the Supreme Leader only required a holocomm. The Star Destroyer _Locutor_ where he’d been stationed for these three months had such a communications array. Armitage did not want to know why he was being called to the _Kraken_ itself.

Dr. Katsuo was assigned to the _Kraken_ , perhaps his comms to her finally meant something and they could deal with the hologram issue directly?

With that ray of hope the shuttle flew under the _Kraken_ to dock in the command ship’s belly.

“Good luck.”

Armitage did not think about his pilot wishing him luck. He especially did not think about how it was whispered to him in a nervous low voice, as though he should not expect to survive this.

*****

The first thing Armitage noticed was how the nautilus shell **shined** in the unlit gloom.

The second thing he noticed was the pressure closing his throat.

A force pulled him to his knees and dragged him to the feet of the Supreme Leader. His vision swam with shining colors, with the iridescent green of Snoke’s golden robe, with the clear blue eyes that looked down at him with disdain. A sweet stench of death, decay, fury and fear filled his senses, lingering on his tongue and stinging his nose.

“You have no idea the depth of my disappointment,” Snoke said, voice low and deceptively level. “I was promised a monster. A hunter of Arkanis. I expected to create something beautiful, a hound to chase and devour the enemies of the First Order. Instead you become this! You’re no hound, you’re a pet! Prey. Only human, like your father. A human with titanium fangs and an empty hiss.”

Armitage pulled at his throat, trying to find or feel or understand the Force that choked him. It felt like a wad of air plugged his trachea, like his throat itself closed around nothing. His blood pounded freely in his head, unimpeded by constriction. He knew in that terrible moment that Snoke could keep him conscious like this for as long as he wanted, minutes, hours. Longer. Somehow he would survive it and he would be awake and aware the entire time.

Armitage felt himself pulled up off the floor, his feet dangling into nothingness. All he could see was that endless nautilus swirl above him as he hung from his neck. He fought the panic that rose in him, that he had no control over his own physical form. Not even gravity mattered as he was forced to stare into the swirl that shined and glowed like hyperspace itself.

He heard the footsteps below and around him, someone light and lithe slowly walking circles around where he dangled. The brush of robes on infinite shell told him who it was.

“What am I to do with you?” Snoke pondered. “I have no need for another pitiful human. I suppose I could give you back to your father. I expect he’d demand the right to change you back. I hear black-market medical droids can be quite expensive. But then I suppose he can always make up the difference by acquiring low grade ocular implants as replacements. They can be acquired ‘used’, I hear.”

Armitage squirmed, trying to fight back. The growl caught in his throat, plugged by the ball of air that choked him. He kicked in protest until that same Force that held him up grabbed his legs and held those still as well.

“You don’t like that idea,” Snoke said, laughing. “Do you…”

Armitage’s chest heaved as he tried to inhale past the ball in his throat. He thrashed like a worm on a hook, slowly spinning himself in midair. The nautilus swirl spun in counterpoint, the iridescence mocking him as it sparkled. He could feel the press of another’s thoughts invading his own mind and he mustered all of his control to snarl in protest and warning. No sound issued from his throat but he still felt it building there as the presence pulled away from his mind.

The spinning stopped as someone grabbed his knees. The nautilus shell shifted, growing brighter as he felt someone removing his… boots? Why? His socks came next and he felt cold air on his bare feet. Hands moved from his knees to his bare ankles, gripping with a cold clammy feeling that spread up his body, making him shiver. The nautilus grew brighter still, shimmering and swirling and sparkling and filling his mind as his body plunged into icy cold, colder…

Everything changed.

He **remembered**.

* * *

Armitage was eleven years old as old men laughed around him. His father’s friends forced him to serve them like the kitchen wench they claimed Mother to be. He’d been tripped and now he stood surrounded by broken glass and spilled wine, an empty tray in his hands. “I-I’m sorry,” he began, knowing it would never be enough.

“The bastard of a kitchen slave should at least be able to serve drinks.”

“He can’t even do that. Useless.”

“Why did you bring him? Should have left him on that mudball with his mother.”

“I’ll clean it up, I promissse,” he said. If they said yes he could run, he could get out of there. He could stop his words from tripping on his adult teeth coming in, the large canines like the fangs of a monster. His father was right, he really was a monster.

“You’ll clean it up, boy.”

“Lick it up.”

“Right off the floor, that’s it. Lick it up like the beast you are.”

Tears leaked from his eyes as he knelt down under their sneering gazes. His father watched with that same contempt, daring him to disobey. He shook with unshed tears as he leaned down to do as he was told. The floor tasted like old rubber, like sickeningly sweet wine, like shame and pain and he felt a hand grab his collar and throw him to his back onto the shattered decanter. He hissed, fangs bared, and snarled at his father who stood over him in fury.

“Snap at me, will you boy?”

His father’s hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through the glass, smears of red trailing behind on the floor as he screamed and hissed and fought.

* * *

Armitage was five years old, lying naked on a fresher floor. Arkanis lay behind them, driven away by conquerors under a banner of liberation. Exhaustion stole his strength as he felt the sudden terrible urge to empty his bowels. But he knew if he moved the nausea would return and he’d vomit all over again. 

He could hear his father outside the door talking to someone. It should have been a comforting voice but the words hurt more than his twisting stomach.

“I should have left it behind. Left it with its monstrous mother. We can’t feed it, Grand Admiral. We don’t have the resources. Let me end it. It should be me, it’s my son. Let me end its pitiful existence.”

He couldn't cry, he couldn't make a sound, or his father would make him hurt for it. The force of holding back his sobs drew another retch as his starving body forcibly rejected the only rations he was allowed to eat.

He wanted to go home to Mother.

* * *

Armitage was seventeen years old and he envied the stormtroopers in his cadre. They looked like everyone else. They didn't have names anymore. It didn’t matter if they had missing teeth or shining eyes, all that mattered was that they could shoot. But he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t see the target down the shooting range. Every sniper in his class was assigned a color for their targets and that color was supposed to rotate with each session. Except each session he had the same gray target against a gray background. If he were human he’d be able to see the thin white lines of the target circles on the gray target but he couldn’t. Not this far. Not at 500 meters where every other target was a colorful blur except his own, gray on gray lost in the fuzzy distance.

* * *

Armitage was twenty years old and his father argued against an officer’s commission for his son. Despite his scores, despite his background, despite the ideas his father stole from him, his father fought to keep him in the Stormtrooper cadre and his name stricken from the record, replaced by a serial number.

* * *

Armitage was seven years old and he always had to sleep on the lowest bunk. Monsters sleep under the bed, the other children said. And he was a monster. But it was okay, every cadre had one monster kept in check with a single stuffed animal. It meant despite the whispers he never slept alone.

* * *

Armitage was twelve years old and he screamed as the results of an illicit droid trade held him down and pulled his canine teeth.

* * *

Armitage was nineteen years old and--

* * *

Armitage was eight years o--

* * *

Armitage was--

* * *

Armitage _broke._

* * *

Armitage was three years old and surrounded by the sound of rain. Mother had taken him out of the oppressive and uncomfortable estate. Pattering rain soaked him to the skin as Mother held him in her arms. She was warm and smelled like fresh water, like clean skin, like warm milk and the gross grain-breads that the humans ate. She carried him down a rough path, a winding trace of lichen roots beyond the reach of the estate and his shamefully human father.

Mother pulled the simple tunics from their bodies and bare skin smelled even better. She laughed as he buried his face in her breasts and sniffed, filling his nose with her scent. She ran her hand through his hair and kissed his head as he Scented her.

The shock of cold had him holding tight to her. She nuzzled him, her purr relaxing his fear as he realized where they were. He’d never been in one of the bogs before but this wasn’t anything like the disgusting sucking deadly terror his human father ranted about. It was cold and wet and he easily sank to his chest but Mother held him up and close and safe. He slapped his hands against the viscous surface and giggled as they stuck then let go, stuck then let go. He looked up into Mother’s shining green night-eyes and she laughed and hugged him close. He hoped this moment would never end.

It shouldn’t have ended.

“I should have left you with her.”

Twenty three year old Armitage Hux opened his eyes as the memories faded. But he wasn’t standing in the Supreme Leader’s throne room anymore. This wasn’t the _Locutor_ , this wasn’t the _Inevitable_ , this wasn’t the _Everlasting_ , this wasn’t the _Kraken_ , this wasn’t any ship he’d ever been assigned to or had flown on. This was a flat blank field. The sky above him roiled with featureless mist. The blank terrain around him faded into that same mist.

He wasn’t alone.

Brendol Hux repeated his words. “I should have left you with her,” he said, the sneer audible in his voice. “I had orders to bring you along. I fought them but Grand Admiral Sloane insisted. We needed children. I reminded her we needed **human** children and you were not.”

Armitage stared at the image of his father. Bitter anger bubbled up, tainted by so many memories of pain. Large memories, like the day his teeth were removed with rusty pliers and no sedative. Small memories like all those nights spent alone in his cadre surrounded by children who whispered and pointed at his missing teeth. The hunger, the humiliation, the terror, the pain. Oh Stars the **pain**...

“I wanted to spare you that pain,” Brendol said conversationally. “But Sloane wouldn’t let me end you.”

Details dredged from memories pinged against Armitage’s mind. They didn’t have the rations to spare for him but the generals and admirals all dined in luxury on the very animal proteins that would have nourished him. There was no reason to color code the sniper targets other than to highlight his inability to focus at distance. There was no reason to force him to sleep in the barracks with the orphaned children of the stormtrooper cadres, his father was ‘required’ to keep him until puberty.

Every moment of pain at the hands of this man was unnecessary. He growled.

Brendol slapped him.

Armitage felt his cheek slice against titanium teeth. He spat the blood at Brendol’s feet. “You lied to me,” he hissed. “You’ve always lied to me. Everything you’ve done was to hold me back.”

“You were never supposed to exist!” Brendol snarled. “When I raped your mother I had no intention of siring anything!”

Armitage roared and lunged. He didn’t have the knives in his sleeves but he didn’t need them. His hands twisted into claws that sliced at soft flabby flesh. Brendol’s uniform jacket parted as easily as his skin, blood welling as the flesh peeled open like overripe fruit.

Brendol screamed as he fell backward and tried to scramble away.

Armitage felt powerful as he lorded over this blubbering mess that dared to call itself his father. He pounced. He wanted to wash his arms to the elbows in warm blood, to bury his face in fresh muscle and tear at the flesh with his teeth.

Brendol screamed as Armitage tore into him, as Armitage tore at the belly wall with hands and teeth. Blood gushed as he broke through.

Armitage buried his face and hands into the screaming carcass and wanted to drown in the smell of fear and blood. He settled for pulling the liver from Brendol’s open belly, holding it aloft for the man to see, and ripping chunks out of it with his teeth. The taste of iron and organ overwhelmed him, dragging a purr and a moan from his throat as his eyes fluttered closed. He’d never tasted anything so sweet and he changed tactics, instead nibbling and licking the organ, savoring it as Brendol watched in utter horror.

The scene changed again. Brendol’s dying breaths were met with the sounds of wind and pattering rain. Armitage rolled off of him and lay next to the ruined body of his father on the wet fibrous mat surrounded and buoyed by black clean-smelling bog. A dark misty sky enclosed by vast lichen branches and fungal puffs met his eyes as he curled his arms around his belly and sighed in utter contentment. He writhed in pleasure at the taste on his tongue, at the purr in his throat, at the death rattle of the useless human beside him. Blood seeped into the Arkanan bog around him and he would gladly have let it claim him too, if only to keep this feeling forever.

Nothing could take this from him. He would kill to keep this. He would die to keep this.

He would do **anything**.

The misty sky above him grew red, iridescent, shining, and it began to twist as everything changed again.

The hunger hit him in the stomach like a fist but he couldn’t whimper past the Force that choked him. The cold feeling retreated down his body, concentrating in the two icy hands that gripped his ankles then let go.

Then everything let go and Armitage found himself on the floor. Air rushed into his lungs and he gasped, coughed, snarled, hissed, and growled low in warning. Gold and iridescent green robes dangled just out of reach, the creature within them looking at him with something akin to pleased hunger.

“I can be lenient,” Snoke said. “I’ll give you one more chance to prove yourself. Do you accept?”

“What… what is it?” Armitage asked, his tortured voice little more than a whisper.

“Ah, ah, yes or no. Do you accept?”

“Anything…” Armitage whispered, turning his eyes to the floor. Anything to avoid that pain again. Though whether he meant the pain of memory or the pain of Brendol’s enforced humanity he had no idea.

“You have one chance to prove yourself,” Snoke promised. “Speak to your father about acquiring a stormtrooper. If you win you will be rewarded. If not...”

Armitage pushed himself to his knees. He didn’t fight the phantom Force petting his hair or the phantom hands stroking his face. He especially didn’t hear the Supreme Leader’s hiss of satisfaction as he submitted.

*****

Armitage did not like this. He did not like this at all.

His battle experience came from simulators, from the shooting range. From games played late at night with holograms, with programs, with flat boards and little painted pieces. He’d never had to fight like this.

But then he figured very few people in civilized space had to fight like this. Not since the Republic fell and the Empire banned these kinds of bloodsports.

The Supreme Leader had turned the whole thing into a spectacle. Armitage Hux stood in an arena opposite a stormtrooper, SK-1042. The SK squad was rumored to be one of Brendol’s best, specialized in person-to-person combat. SK-1042 wore full helm and armor with a Z6 baton and a riot shield. Armitage wore his uniform and gray breastplate but carried no visible weapons, his knives stayed in their sheaths for now.

Generals and Commandants and Admirals all sat in the stands above the arena as though this were a debate or an opera. Husbands and wives sat with their officer spouses, the glitter of evening gowns and the stench of perfumes lending a civilized quality that Armitage just didn’t feel.

Sand crunched under SK-1042’s boots as Armitage stood at an uneasy parade rest. Neither combatant knew entirely what was going to happen but Armitage had a sinking feeling.

Supreme Leader Snoke stood and clapped his hands twice for silence. “We have a special performance tonight,” he said. “A test of skill at arms. And we all have Commandant Brendol Hux to thank for it.” He motioned for Brendol to stand.

Brendol stood awkwardly and accepted a smattering of applause. His wife Maratelle stayed seated next to him, the imperious look in her eyes made Armitage growl loud enough for SK-1042 to hear.

“In one corner, the epitome of the Commandant’s Stormtrooper program. The Riot Control Trooper is the pinnacle of close quarter combat training, fully armored with shield. It wields the Z6 riot baton, capable of subduing, burning, or even electrocuting its foe. Its grounded armor is built to withstand its own weapon, small arms fire, most civilized weapons, and many uncivilized ones.”

Snoke allowed a measure of nervous laughter from his audience before moving to the second combatant.

“In the other corner, the Commandant’s own son. Captain Armitage Hux was born of an Arkanan mother and has recently undergone physical augments and gene therapies to enhance his nonhuman aspects. He now displays the senses, the abilities, and the instincts of a nocturnal apex predator. He’s chosen to wear standard officer’s armor and is armed with…” Here Snoke paused to chuckle aloud. “...with teeth, claws, and whatever he carries with him.”

Armitage could smell the uneasy fear washing over the observers. It awoke something in him, something that made his belly rumble with hunger. Per the Supreme Leader’s orders he hadn’t eaten in three days and he was beginning to feel it as a low desperation that sharpened his senses. The arena shifted and brightened as his pupils blew wide, turning his eyes black with anticipation.

“This battle is to the death,” Snoke said.

The arena broke into protests. Brendol Hux got to his feet and demanded an end be put to this farce. Maratelle grabbed him and pulled him back to his seat as she looked down into the area with distaste.

“What did you do?” SK-1042 whispered. “Why am I killing you?”

Armitage didn’t answer, a low growl issuing from his shaking form. He’d said ‘anything’ but he didn’t mean this.

“Should SK-1042 emerge victorious, he will receive his name and be risen to the rank of Lieutenant with all the rights and privileges therein.” Snoke didn’t even have to shout to make himself heard over the din, the din seemed to part and die as he spoke. “Should Captain Hux emerge victorious, he will earn the right to eat his kill.”

Horror gripped the silent audience.

“What did you **do**?!” SK-1042 screamed.

“I said ‘yes’,” Armitage said, as though that explained anything.

“Begin.”

Sound bubbled up inside Armitage, an entire lifetime of keeping silent crawling out of his jaws in one snarl of challenge as SK-1042 activated his baton and raised his shield. The two combatants circled each other, each looking for some weakness.

Armitage looked like one gigantic weakness. Hungry, haggard, barely armored, he looked unarmed. But those black eyes unnerved, those long titanium fangs glistened with the drool of an anticipated kill, and those sounds couldn’t possibly issue from a human throat.

SK-1042’s armor was perfectly fitted, perfectly shined, perfectly worn. The shield was large and square but Armitage knew its weakness, it was only as wide as the arm wielding it. The crease of the elbow was not armored. None of the joints were armored properly. Those gaps in the armor were lined with self-healing polymers that were resistant to most blades.

Armitage slid his monoblade out of the right sleeve sheath. A monoblade was not ‘most blades’. However the monofilament edge would not last through a long battle. He’d have to strike correctly in order to survive this.

SK-1042 struck first, swinging the riot baton into the floor of the arena. Armitage hissed as he dodged, feinting with his blade toward the legs. SK-1042 jumped back, keeping his shield held in position close to the body.

They circled again. Armitage could smell the fear fading from his prey, replaced with a determination not to lose. All cornered prey stopped feeling fear and instead turned to fight for their lives. Now was that fight as Armitage feinted a few more times, each time watching the shield arm as he toyed with the legs, driving SK-1042 to frustration.

“Nice knife,” SK-1042 mocked. “You always fight with a letter opener?”

“Nice baton,” Armitage purred. “You ever hit with it?”

SK-1042 roared and charged with the shield. Armitage was ready, jumping out of the way and slicing his knife out to catch SK-1042 in the crook of his shield arm. Blood spurted but not enough to matter as SK-1042 slammed Armitage with that shield, knocking him away.

Armitage got to his feet just as the baton hit. He roared in pain as electricity lanced through him, strong enough to burn. He scrambled out of the way as SK-1042 raised the baton for the second strike and they returned to circling.

“It must be terrible for Brendol to have to--”

“Justin, I think Justin is a good name--”

“A bottle of Corellian brandy on the stormtrooper--”

“Maybe the Commandant will take him as a replacement for--”

Armitage heard the whispers in the stands as old Imperials decided his fate. But he wouldn’t allow it. Not as SK-1042’s shield arm began to droop.

Armitage feinted again, this time indicating he aimed for the shield arm before dropping down to slice at a knee. The monoblade chipped on armor before sliding down and lodging in the seam at the back of the knee. Armitage slammed the knife home before abandoning it and running as SK-1042 howled in agony. SK-1042 dropped his shield and grabbed the blade with his free hand.

Armitage slid the monoblade from his left sleeve.

SK-1042 pulled the blade out, screaming the whole while. He fell to his knees and swung the riot baton chaotically, trying to keep the monster at arm's length.

Armitage hoisted the discarded shield, considered it, then tossed it away over the arena wall. He instead walked the perimeter of the arena with his hands in a twisted mockery of an officer considering a subordinate. He purred, the sound echoing in the spellbound arena underneath frantic cries of pain.

SK-1042 dragged himself to his feet, limping badly as each step dragged a whimper of agony from him. He staggered to Armitage, baton raised.

Armitage ducked below the first swing, waiting for the overhand chop. When he got it he darted in close and plunged his blade into the exposed armpit.

SK-1042 screamed again and fell to his knees. Armitage circled around and removed the trooper’s helmet.

“Make it quick,” SK-1042 asked through gritted teeth.

Armitage looked up at the amassed crowd. All whispers of his death were gone. Brendol looked like he was about to be ill. Many of the assembled Imperials looked nauseous at the next step. Many more looked on with unabashed bloodlust. Supreme Leader Snoke gave Armitage a fond smile and the tiniest nod of permission.

Armitage pulled SK-1042’s head back, exposing the neck. He stroked that neck for a moment, just long enough for SK-1042 to close his eyes. And then he opened his jaws and struck, sinking his teeth into the bared neck. Cartilage crunched and SK-1042 gave a surprised gurgle. Armitage pulled, ripping the throat out and letting blood spray across the sand.

Armitage plucked and pulled at the stormtrooper’s armor, undoing enough of the fastenings that he could pull the breastplate off like opening a clamshell. He yanked his blade out of the armpit and used it to slice through underarmor and underclothing, finally exposing skin. Underneath skin he found the abdominal wall. Beyond that he found the organs.

Liver tasted as sweet as he’d imagined.

He heard the commotion above him but it was unimportant. Let the humans figure themselves out. Let the prey animals above make themselves sick at the sight of their predator. Let the small predators believe themselves at his level.

Let his father look on in horrified disgust.

Let the Supreme Leader laugh in glee as his hound finally learned to hunt.

Let them.


End file.
